


Adapting

by FrankNFurter420



Category: BoJack Horseman
Genre: Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29389665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankNFurter420/pseuds/FrankNFurter420
Summary: BoJack is back from prison and living with Mr. Peanutbutter. It's... Fine. It's good to be back, even in L.A, with all the pain the city has caused him, even if he could get drunk or high if he wanted to, even if everyone he loves is back in his life and he might hurt them again. It's scary, but he will do better this time, he might even give love another chance.
Relationships: BoJack Horseman/Mr. Peanutbutter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57





	1. Back in Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people, blanket trigger warning for all the stuff BoJack did and all the issues he has. If those hit too close to home and not in a nice way, take care of yourself first, okay?

"Thanks for picking me up," BoJack said while getting in the car, "you really didn't have to."

"Of course I did!" Mr. Peanutbutter said with his usual enthusiasm, "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't?"

It was weird for BoJack, having to stay at Mr. Peanutbutter's house, and more than a little embarrassing, but it was also good. His house already didn't feel safe when he sold it, but now, after what he did there, he didn't ever want to see it again.

"So, how was prison?" Mr. Peanutbutter asked, incapable of maintaining silence for over four minutes.

“Mr. Peanutbutter, you visited all the time.”

“Oh?” He asked innocently.

“We saw each other last week. You told me you were picking me up. And that you had my room ready.”

“It’s all true! Still, tell me anyway.” There wasn’t anything about prison BoJack hadn’t told him already, but there was something he wanted to say.

“I think controlled environments are good for me. Rehab, prison, places like that, you know?” BoJack said. He felt good after his time in prison, centered in a way he didn’t usually feel.

“Places where you can’t drink?”

“I mean, you can drink in prison,” Mr. Peanutbutter looked at him, ears shooting up in alarm, “I didn’t, of course. But I meant places I can stay out of any drama.”

“BoJack Horseman staying out of drama? Who knew!”

“Yeah, who knew,” BoJack said, strangely proud of himself.

  
They arrived at the house and everything was exactly the same way, except for the fact that Todd, Maude, Princess Carolyn and Judah were on the couch.

“Surprise!” They shouted at the same time. A little spiked head appeared from behind Judah’s legs.

“Oh, hey, everyone,” BoJack said waving. He glared at Mr. Peanutbutter.

“I decided to throw you a homecoming party!” Mr. Peanutbutter put an arm around BoJack’s shoulders and guided him to where everyone was, not noticing how BoJack trying to get away. “Since you haven’t seen us in so long!”

“I haven’t seen Maude and Judah since the wedding,” BoJack pointed out, “but I saw you and Todd all the time.”

“You didn’t see me all the time,” Princess Carolyn said, getting up to hug him.

“No, but I saw you often enough.”

“Hey, BoJack, now that you’re out, do you want to work at a daycare? I read an article about how hard it is to find work after prison and you could be my partner!”

“Thanks, Todd, but no.” Todd looked relieved, which BoJack thought offensive, he could be a babysitter, thank you very much. “Mr. Peanutbutter, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Anything for my best friend!”

BoJack grabbed Mr. Peanutbutter’s arm and dragged him into the hallway.

“Mr. Peanutbutter, did it ever occur you that in my first day out of jail I wouldn’t want to see everyone that’s still in my life?” He said through his teeth, already regretting moving in with Mr. Peanutbutter, regretting getting out of prison at all.

“But they’re all your friends, BoJack, they wanted to see you.”

“I’m not ready for this, okay? This is too much.”

“Of course you’re ready, you can do anything!” Mr. Peanutbutter said earnestly. It pissed BoJack off.

“No, I’m not. This is exactly why Diane divorced you, you just don’t listen.”

“Hey, that’s not –”

BoJack walked back to the living room, and started a conversation with Judah about the best ways to keep a beard hydrated and shiny.

BoJack did okay, it was in fact good to see his friends in a proper house where they could hug and touch if they wanted and no one would yell “time!” and take him away. Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t talk to him, and BoJack didn’t try.

A few hours later he was hugging Princess Carolyn goodbye, and he was glad Mr. Peanutbutter did this, even if he was exhausted. He went to his room, and soon there was a knock, and Mr. Peanutbutter came in before he answered.

“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t ask you.”

“It’s fine, I had fun.”

“It’s just been so long since I had company and I wanted to celebrate, I guess it was more for me than it was for you.” Mr. Peanutbutter seemed truly sorry, and BoJack wondered if he should apologize for his comment about Diane, but he didn’t want to. He knew he should, though.

“Guess we’re just two sad lonely old men, huh?” BoJack said, going for funny. Mr. Peanutbutter chuckled, but it seemed mostly out of obligation.

“Yeah, guess so,” he said, scratching his neck, “Hey, feel free to say no, but… Do you want to maybe watch a movie tomorrow? I’ll bring home some pizza, just two best friends hanging out, what do you say?” BoJack honestly couldn’t imagine a worst way to spend his time.

“Sure,” he said anyway, as an implicit apology, “let’s do that.”

He hoped Mr. Peanutbutter would forget this by tomorrow.


	2. Letter

BoJack woke up to thoughts of Hollyhock and the smell of pancakes, one of which was better than the other.

God, Hollyhock. He wondered what she thought about him going to prison, if she was worried or relieved, he wondered if she wondered if he was back. He wondered if she was okay, if she was healthy and happy, if she had good grades, and if he hadn’t screwed her up too much. He wondered if she still loved him.

He was sure he could tell her he loved her now, but he would never get the chance.

He wondered if she felt guilty about cutting ties with him, and he hoped she didn’t - it was the best for her, and he understood and respected that, even if missing her was like hot coal on his skin.

He got up, put on some pants and a shirt, and headed in the direction of pancakes.

“Can I say something and it won’t sound weird?” Were not the first words BoJack wanted to hear in the morning, especially not from Mr. Peanutbutter.

“Sure,” he said anyway.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” that wasn’t so bad, “because I hate not taking care of anyone now that I’m single.”

“So, what you’re saying is, I’m your girlfriend,” BoJack said, knowing it was not at all what Mr. Peanutbutter was saying, but wanting to see him dig himself deeper.

“No! Not at all! I’m doing therapy exactly so you won’t be my girlfriend.”

“What?”

“I mean, so I can be happy alone, and not need anyone to need me.” That actually made sense. “Still, it’s good to cook for someone else, that’s all.”

“Thanks, Mr. Peanutbutter.” BoJack said, putting a pancake on a plate and eating.

It was something his therapist in prison had tried hard to ingrain in him: thank you, please, you’re welcome, that was nice of you, it was no trouble. Even if you said something mean after, it meant something to people when you validated them - it’s funny, BoJack had never paid attention to how much it mattered to him, and it was a lot.

“So, buddy, what are your plans for today?” Mr. Peanutbutter asked.

“Oh, just really enjoy my first day in a house,” BoJack said, gesturing to Robot House, “walk around, sit on every surface, take naps, do whatever comes to mind now that I don’t have a schedule.”

"That's great! I won’t be around so you can really enjoy it.”

“What are you up to today?”

“I’ll leave as soon as I’m done here to shoot Birthday Dad, probably will be home late,” Mr. Peanutbutter’s ears went up,” but don’t worry, I’ll be back in time for us to watch a movie!”

In therapy, BoJack learned letters not always needed to be sent, they could just be a way to put even the feelings no one wanted somewhere. So, when the pool and the couch got boring, BoJack wrote a letter to Hollyhock.

_ Hey, hope you’re doing okay. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for: giving alcohol to a teenager, being a shitty brother to you, not respecting your limits, my mother drugging you, and everything else you found out about me. I don’t want to write that, don’t wanna risk it putting me in a bad place today, but I really am sorry. _

_ I’m staying with Mr. Peanutbutter for a while. I mean, I have a job, I’ll be teaching drama to prison inmates starting next week, but I don’t want to live in a shitty apartment, and I don’t want to go back into show business, at least not now. Mr. Peanutbutter doesn’t seem bothered, he likes having people around. _

_ I’m doing okay. I miss you - I’ll always miss you - but I trust you’re doing okay, too. Can I give you some brotherly advice? No. Here it goes anyway: get drunk, but not too drunk; try drugs, but not too many or too much, actually, stick with pot if you can; have sex, but not too much and always use protection. Do your thing, live your college life, but don’t pick something and make it your only way of feeling good with yourself or the world. That is for friends, art, self-esteem, whatever else to do, not addictions. _

_ I wish I had done better with you. And before you. _

_ I love you. _

He didn’t cry while writing - he still couldn’t cry - but he felt dry after it, empty in a good way. Hollyhock would never read the words, but he wrote them anyway, and that counted, even if just for him.

They were watching American Psycho. They had both seen it before, but didn't mind the rewatch, and it was okay until the scene where Patrick Bateman has sex with the hookers.

"I tried that a few months ago," Mr. Peanutbutter said casually. BoJack wanted to mention how much he didn't want or care to know about Mr. Peanutbutter's sex life, but for some reason he didn't.

"You hired a hooker?" BoJack asked. The reason was curiosity, apparently.

"Yeah, but I couldn't go through with it. Ended up talking about how lonely I was."

"Wow."

"Yeah, I'm sure she'd rather give me a blowjob." BoJack chuckled. He honestly admired Mr. Peanutbutter not being capable of sex with a prostitute, it was not something he could say about himself.

"Why couldn't you?"

"Because," Mr. Peanutbutter paused the movie, "sex isn't really about sex, is it? It's about the connection, sharing something so intense with someone, holding and being held, it's about pleasure in company."

"For me, sex has been about sex."

"Really?"

"No," BoJack admitted, "but it also hasn't been about anything you just said."

"I did one night stands, then. Hadn't done it since I was in my 30s. It's better, more personal, I guess, but I still prefer really being with someone. Being a boyfriend."

"Why?"

"I'm good at it. I'm a better boyfriend than husband."

"I think I'll never have sex again." BoJack said, something he had thought about many times in prison, but had never said it out loud.

"Doggy doggy what now?" BoJack rolled his eyes, "Why?"

"Because… Having sex with me hurt so many people. Princess Carolyn, Ana," he couldn't list them off, it was too much, "and that is on me, that's my fault. But it hurts me too, you know? The knowledge of how sex has made these lives harder. I don't trust myself to do it again."

"But sex is not, like, booze or coke."

"It might be for me," BoJack shrugged.

Mr. Peanutbutter pressed play, and they watched the rest of the movie without pausing.


	3. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BoJack tries to get through a party and the day after.

BoJack was in a party. Mind you, he didn’t want to be in a party, but he lived with Mr. Peanutbutter, so. Who even threw a party on a Thursday?

He had been nice about it, too. Had asked BoJack if he minded, if it was really okay to have alcohol at the party – “Are you sure? Are you absolutely, positively sure?” – and if he wanted Mr. Peanutbutter to be his sober companion. He said he didn’t, if only because he would be setting himself up to be alone when Erica showed up.

Still, it was good that Mr. Peanutbutter cared so much. He always seemed so _there_ , offering to talk, to make accommodations, to listen – maybe because there was still so much he didn’t know, that had to be the reason for so much kindness.

“Oh my God, weren’t you, like, in jail?” It was a girl, in her late 20s or early 30s, brown hair, thin lips and too much make-up. Exactly BoJack’s type another life ago.

“Uh, yeah,” BoJack answered, “weren’t you, like, doing something else?”

“Did you really got so drunk once that –”

“Probably.” BoJack walked off, but the girl followed close behind, refusing to take a hint.

“I didn’t think you would ever show your face in public after that interview…”

“I’m not in public, I live here.”

It wasn’t a big party; Mr. Peanutbutter had invited his friends, some of which were also BoJack’s friends, and those people had invited their friends. About 30 people in the house, and BoJack could already see a friendly face in the other side of the room.

“Hey, Princess Carolyn, can I speak with you in private?” Princess Carolyn looked away from her conversation with Judah and some other guy to BoJack and the girl _who was still talking_.

“And then you tried to kill yourself!” She was saying, and people were staring at him,

“Sure, old horse, let’s talk outside,” Princess Carolyn glared at the woman, a look capable of gluing her to the floor, and took BoJack’s arm, leading him out of the house. As soon as they were out of the house, BoJack sat on the beach chair next to the pool, breathing hard. “What a bitch!”

“Christ, I can’t deal with this.”

“She’s just a girl trying to get a story to tell her friends, don’t mind her.”

“Is this what the rest of my life’s going to be like?”

“Oh, BoJack,” Princess Carolyn sat beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, “probably.”

Next morning, no smell of bacon and eggs was enough to get BoJack out of bed. He had work at 10, but he couldn’t even think of going inside the prison right now. Was this his life now? Were his accomplishments really just the people he hurt? Was he banned from meeting anyone new because his failings got to people before him?

It was far from the first day he felt he needed a drink, but it was the first that he thought maybe he should get one.

A knock.

“Hey, buddy, are you not coming for breakfast?” _Goddammit Mr. Peanutbutter, leave me alone._ “I have to go to work, are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Will you go to work today?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, will you call if you need me?” Mr. Peanutbutter asked, sounding nervous. “Or, not _me_ me, but if you need something and I can get it? Or, I don’t know, if you want to talk –”

“I’ll call, Mr. Peanutbutter.”

“Okay, then, have a good day!”

BoJack did end up going to work, and it was good for him, being surrounded by people who wouldn’t – couldn’t, really – judge him, and for whom he was actually a good example, someone who got out and was doing good. Prison wasn’t good, but it was controlled and safe, at least for him. He knew drugs and booze got passed around, and fights happened often, although no one died while during his stay, but it was easier there to keep your head down and stay out of it.

“Okay, guys, see you tomorrow, tell Carson he can’t skip class, we need him, okay?” BoJack handed out fist bumps and high-fives while leaving, an honest smile on his face despite being tired after six hours of shitty acting – it was a huge prison, and he had to teach every pavilion every day.

On the way back to the house, he felt the sadness and fear creep back into his chest, dark thoughts about how he would never be more than the mistakes he made, how he managed to screw up so badly and now it was too late. He knew these thoughts, he knew they came and went, and he would be okay, but right now they hurt. At times like these, he missed Diane fiercely.

As soon as he stepped into Mr. Peanutbutter’s house, his phone started ringing. He answered immediately, daring to hope it was Diane.

“Hey, buddy, how are you doing?” BoJack sighed, disappointed despite himself.

“I’m fine, Mr. Peanutbutter.”

“Do you want to grab dinner later? I can swing by to pick you up, we’ll go wherever you want.”

“I’m not really in the mood to see people right now.”

“Oh, that’s okay, another day, then.” Mr. Peanutbutter sounded worried, and worse, disappointed. BoJack heard his therapist’s voice reminding him to show kindness, especially to those that were kind to him.

“We can do something in the house. Um… I don’t know, what do you want to do?”

“We can play the forehead game!” BoJack didn’t need to see to know Mr. Peanutbutter’s ears had gone up.

“Yeah, sure, let’s do that.”

“I’ll be home in an hour tops and we can play! See you in a bit, roomie!”

After a while, Mr. Peanutbutter had stopped being exhausting, and after a while longer, he was only a little tiring. It was hard to be mad at a dog who let you live in his house rent free, cooked breakfast, made sure you were comfortable and took your needs in consideration, even if said dog was a bit clingy. At the end of the day, BoJack was thankful for Mr. Peanutbutter.

He was watching TV and eating apple slices with peanut butter when Mr. Peanutbutter arrived.

“Honey, I’m home!” He ran towards the couch and practically jumped on it, playfully poking BoJack’s arm as a greeting, “I had the best day on set! Judah took Ruthie there and I got to play with her while I wasn’t shooting, and she said my name! I mean, it sounded kind of like ‘mita piber’ but she was trying and I swear I almost cried!”

“Oh, wow, really?”

“We also shot a scene where Birthday Dad saves a little girl from drowning, it was very emotional.” BoJack hummed, he still had no idea of what the hell was that show. “How was your day?”

“It was okay. I’m still getting to know the inmates of the other pavilions, and they come and go so fast it’s hard to set anything up. I have no idea how I’m supposed to put six productions together now, you know? Before I did it just for fun, but now it actually matters.” BoJack ate another apple slice. “I mean, maybe it always did, entertainment is hard to come by in prison, especially healthy ones.”

“Do you think we’ll see any of them have their big break soon?”

“Hell no.”

“I’m sure you’ll soon be getting offers to teach at a university again. Maybe you’ll go back to Wesleyan and see Hollyhock!”

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”

“Just think, you and your sister at the same university again after everything! Can you imagine how happy you’d be?”

“ _God,_ Mr. Peanutbutter, shup up.”

Mr. Peanutbutter did, in fact, shut up, but the silence that followed was tense and BoJack immediately felt like shit.

“I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to see Hollyhock.”

“I do want to see her.”

“Then it would be a good idea, wouldn’t it? You seemed so happy when you were teaching there.”

“It’s not that simple.” BoJack wasn’t ready to talk about this, not with anyone.

“Why not?”

“It’s none of your business! Jesus, why can’t you just drop things? Guess what,” he was raising his voice, he was standing up, and he should stop, he should just stop, but he felt the dark feelings crawling up on him again, he could feel himself becoming ugly and petty, “I don’t owe you any of my sob stories, Mr. Peanutbutter! You’re always asking if I want to talk about things or if it’s okay to have alcohol in the house or if I need anything but sometimes I just need you to _shut up!_ ”

BoJack already felt awful about it, remorse making its way into his anger and self-pity. Still, Mr. Peanutbutter’s face was the killing blow – he looked crushed, and guilty, like he was the one that screwed up. He didn’t even try to hide it.

“I’m so sorry, BoJack,” he looked up, pleading eyes meeting BoJack’s, “I overstepped. Can you forgive me?”

 _Yes,_ BoJack wanted to say, _you didn’t do anything wrong you goddamn idiot, I’m just a piece of shit and I can’t stop._

But his lips seemed sealed shut, his mouth dry, too numb to speak or move. Mr. Peanutbutter must have misunderstood his silence, because he just got up from the couch and went upstairs to his room, clearly feeling awful.

BoJack waited to hear his door closing and went upstairs to his own bedroom as silently as he could, thankful that the bedrooms were far apart. He didn’t undress, didn’t even take off his shoes, just curled up on the bed and embraced his anxiety attack.


	4. Apologies

One of the many, _many_ problems of being sober was that you couldn’t drink yourself to sleep.

BoJack seriously considered giving up on sleep and going to Mr. Peanutbutter’s room to apologize, but the idea felt stupid. Besides, Mr. Peanutbutter probably had never struggled with insomnia in his life, and must be right now dreaming about chasing the mailman or whatever dogs dreamt about.

Also, why in hell Mr. Peanutbutter would mention Hollyhock? BoJack hadn’t mentioned her to him at all when he was in prison or since he got back, couldn’t he take a hint that it was a sore subject? No, the dumb dog probably never had a sore subject, why would he understand?

“You stupid horse,” BoJack muttered to himself, “aren’t you better than that?”

It was so easy to be mad at Mr. Peanutbutter, let him take the blame just because he was dumb enough to do it. Not dumb, even, just trusting.

Sleep was replaced for unsatisfying naps that somehow left him even more tired. Between the naps, he thought of Diane again – God, he missed talking to her, and she knew Mr. Peanutbutter better than anyone, she would know what to say, how to make things better, she always knew.

He almost texted Diane a dozen times every day, however, just like he understood Hollyhock’s choice, he understood Diane’s too, and he kept away, even if it didn’t hurt like shit. _Maybe it will fade,_ he told himself, _you can’t miss them forever._

In the morning, BoJack woke up from his last nap to an empty house and breakfast on the kitchen. A pile of pancakes with a note saying:

_Thought you needed space, will be back later_

_Forgive me, pretty please?_

Giving up on handling this alone, BoJack grabbed a fork and texted Todd.

 **BoJack Horseman > **Screwed up, need help.

 **Todd > **you’ve been back for 3w how

 **BoJack Horseman > **I didn’t mean to.

 **BoJack Horseman > **It wasn’t so bad, I think.

 **BoJack Horseman > **Bad, definitely bad, but not that bad.

 **BoJack Horseman > **Just come over, please.

 **Todd > **cant you ask pb?

 **BoJack Horseman > **I cannot.

 **Todd > **fine omw

BoJack was already regretting asking Todd for help instead of, say, anyone else, when Todd arrived. Weirdly, he felt strangely comforted by the sight of Todd, with his red hoodie and yellow beanie – the biggest constant of his life, even if BoJack tried to screw that up a hundred times.

“Hey, BoJack,” he said, sounding less enthusiastic than usual, “what did you do?”

“Look, it just happened, okay? I lost it, and in my defense, Mr. Peanutbutter can be a lot.”

“Oh, like you’re so easy?” Todd asked, crossing his arms. Todd might be a constant, but he was definitely more wary of BoJack these days, and with reason. “Just tell me what happened.”

Todd was right here, waiting to help, and suddenly BoJack didn’t want to talk about it, “We were talking, and Mr. Peanutbutter mentioned… something I’d rather not talk about, okay?”

“Fine,” Todd said, not pressuring, or uncrossing his arms.

“And I told him to shut up, and I got really defensive and mean, and then we just kind of…” BoJack shrugged, “we haven’t talked since. He left me this note, though.”

BoJack handed Todd the note, and Todd took a quick glance before giving it back, “BoJack –”

“In my defense, I could have said so much worse!” BoJack started pacing, anxiety making him restless, “I just told him to shut up, really, I could have hurt him _for real_ , you know? But I didn’t.”

“Did you _want_ to hurt him? Because it sounds like you did.” Todd said, angry.

“No! I mean, maybe, but not really! I just lost it, you know how I get,” BoJack said, rubbing his arm, “I’m just saying that I’m better now, I didn’t, like, uh…”

“Had sex with his best friend?”

“Yes! His best girl friend, not you, though,” BoJack aimed for funny, but Todd didn’t chuckle. He sat down, fidgeted with his hoodie. “I know you don’t want to deal with my shit, Todd, you can leave with you want.” _Like Diane, like Hollyhock,_ the most bitter part of him said, but BoJack could ignore it now.

“It’s not that,” Todd said, “I mean, I am mad you hurt Mr. Peanutbutter, but I know you’re trying hard.”

BoJack was touched, “Thank you, Todd, um,”

“It’s just that,” Todd continued, “what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” BoJack threw up his hands, frustrated, “What you always do! Some Todd shenanigan, come up with a plan so I can show Mr. Peanutbutter I’m sorry and he’ll forgive me.”

“But how can he forgive you if he thinks he’s the one who screwed up?” Todd didn’t sound like he was trying to point something out to BoJack, he sounded honestly curious, like he hadn’t understood the situation well, “BoJack, you don’t need a plan, you just need to talk to Mr. Peanutbutter.”

BoJack knew. That’s why he hadn’t asked anyone else for help; because he hoped maybe Todd wouldn’t know and would suggest something else. Still, he should probably accept it if even Todd was being more mature than him.

“ _Or,_ ” Todd said, “we could get Margot Martindale to kidnap –”

BoJack had no idea if Todd was serious or he just wanted to make BoJack feel better, but he didn’t care. “No, Todd, you’re right,” BoJack sat down next to Todd and touched his shoulder, “Thanks, though.”

“Anytime, BoJack,” he said, and BoJack almost hugged him, “I should probably go, there are, like, fifteen toddlers unsupervised at VIM right now.”

“ _What?!_ ”

It was late afternoon when Mr. Peanutbutter got home, which was good, because it gave plenty of time to BoJack rehearse his lines for the scene they were about to do.

“Hey, BoJack! Wasn’t sure I’d see you, was scared you’d be avoiding me,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, and it honestly bothered BoJack how he sounded less excited than usual. “Wanna know what I did today?”

“Um, sure,” BoJack said, and instantly Mr. Peanutbutter’s ears went up, and he started moving his hands wildly while starting his tale.

“Nothing at all!” Not much of tale, then, “I just drove around Hollywoob and counted the hours until I felt I could come home! But on the way I called my brother and told him what happened and I talked to Erica and I went to the set of Birthday Dad and talked to Susan, our second director’s assistant, and we ate lunch together! She’s a really smart young woman, I should ask her out.”

“That’s great, Mr. Peanutbutter,” BoJack said, absentmindedly, “Can I talk, now?”

“Of course! Can I just say how sorry I am one last time?”

“No, actually.” Mr. Peanutbutter’s ears dropped, his mouth curled down. _Your move, BoJack,_ “If there is one thing I learned the last year and a half, with rehab, relapse, a suicide attempt, prison and now this, is that fixing things is a lot harder than breaking them. It’s _so_ easy to break things, but I don’t want to do that anymore. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, there were a hundred better ways of handling that, but I chose the one I was used to. Sometimes my temper gets the best of me, and that’s just because I’m shitty, even clean. So, I’m sorry, for shouting and for making you think it was your fault.”

BoJack had played a lot of different scenarios in his head while waiting for Mr. Peanutbutter, and his lines for each of them: an angry Mr. Peanutbutter, storming out, or screaming at him, or even kicking him out; an excited reaction, brushing the whole thing off and dragging BoJack out to dinner or suggesting they throw a party to celebrate their friendship; a subdued reaction, even, Mr. Peanutbutter thanking him for the apology with that sincere look of his, asking him to talk about it more.

He was so unprepared for Mr. Peanutbutter _tackling_ him, though, that he mistook it for an attack at first, almost shoving him off before recognizing it as a hug.

 _Oh,_ was the only thing his brain could come up with, as they fell on the couch together. Mr. Peanutbutter had both arms wrapped around BoJack, his head awkwardly placed on his shoulder. It couldn’t be comfortable, but Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t seem willing to let go, so BoJack awkwardly tapped his back, the bare minimum of reciprocation.

“You’re not shitty, BoJack,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, sounding so goddamn much like he meant it that BoJack felt a lump on his throat, “you’re my best friend.”

“Mr. Peanutbutter,” BoJack started, having no idea what he wanted to say.

“Hey, you still owe me a game, though!”

“Well, I guess I do.”

Mr. Peanutbutter let him go, and BoJack felt both breathless and as if he could finally breathe.

They played the forehead game for a few hours, Mr. Peanutbutter putting increasingly stupid names for BoJack to guess. BoJack called it quits after he put his own name it.

“You said it wasn’t a dog!”

“I’m not a regular dog, I’m a _Labrador_.”

“Argh,” was all BoJack said.

As BoJack sat on the kitchen counter and watched Mr. Peanutbutter make dinner, the _Labrador_ suddenly asked:

“So, BoJack, do you have any plans to move out?”

That was a lot more straightforward than BoJack was used to from Mr. Peanutbutter. “Um, no? I mean, I’m sorry, though, I’ll start looking, I just,” BoJack shrugged lamely, “hadn’t thought about it, I guess.”

“No! No, that’s not what I meant!” Mr. Peanutbutter abandoned his cooking and put both hands on the counter, staring deep into BoJack’s eyes. “I like having you here, hell, you’d stay here forever if it was up to me! I just thought, you know, you’re a millionaire, I honestly didn’t think you’d _want_ to live here with me.”

“Mr. Peanutbutter, the steak is burning,”

“Dammit!” Mr. Peanutbutter turned back to the stove.

“I mean, I don’t know about _forever_ , that would get really awkward when you find another girl to shack up with, but for a while, I guess,” BoJack chuckled, “I keep forgetting that between Horny Unicorn and the settlement for Horsin’ Around, I’m rich again.”

“I’m kind of enjoying being single, really,” Mr. Peanutbutter, said, getting the plates and serving their dinner, “just you and me, hanging out, eating steaks and having sleepovers.”

“Mr. Peanutbutter, we’re both over fifty, that is way too old for having roommates.” BoJack said, even if it was hard to associate Mr. Peanutbutter with his age, the guy seemed perpetually on his twenties.

“Just don’t feel in any hurry to move out, alright? This is good, isn’t it?”

It was past midnight and they were watching a movie – supposedly, BoJack was already half-asleep on the couch – when Mr. Peanutbutter had a question:

“Do you like me?”

BoJack laughed before he could stop himself, “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s just,” Mr. Peanutbutter looked actually embarrassed, it was almost cute, “you know, you always treated me like I was, um, just Diane’s annoying husband or something.”

“I told you, I used to be jealous of you,” BoJack said, slightly ashamed of his past behavior, “Also, you could be really annoying sometimes.”

“And you’re not jealous of me anymore? And you don’t think I’m annoying?” He seemed so hopeful; his eyes shining even in the dark of the living room.

“No, I’m still jealous, and you’re still annoying, but you’re also charming now,” BoJack admitted, blaming his sleepy brain for the honesty, “I like that you’re so excited about things and optimistic. It’s endearing.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that! I’m so overwhelmed!” Mr. Peanutbutter honest to God _squealed_ , hugging BoJack again.

“Is the hugging going to be a thing now?”

“You bet your ass it will!” BoJack just sighed, resigned. And the tiniest bit pleased.


	5. Role Reversal

BoJack dreamed he was six and his father was driving. He stopped at a bar, and left the car without a word, leaving the window open enough for BoJack to breathe, but not enough he could poke his head or even his hand out. There was no food or water in the car, only cigarettes, so BoJack kept himself busy with his own thoughts – he thought about his mother at home, who would no doubt lash out at his father for leaving BoJack in the car to get drunk while drunk herself; he thought about how sad and alone he felt, and how sad and alone he would feel for the rest of his life; he thought about drowning in a pool.

Then, he was fourteen, still waiting for his father to take him home, but now with a lit cigarette in his hand. He wasn’t smoking it, instead, he was putting it out on the back of his hand, over and over again – he didn’t think about it as hurting himself, he was just bored.

BoJack saw his father leaving the car and shouted at him, but then he saw a young female raccoon leaving with him and they went to the alley by the side of the bar, just behind a dumpster, and started having sex. BoJack watched, fascinated and disgusted, as their bodies moved.

Suddenly, he was fifty-six, still watching his father having sex and wanting to go there and break them apart – because he was cheating on his mother, and had forgotten him in the car, and just because of how violated he felt by what he just saw. But the car was locked, and his hands were bleeding where he had burned them.

So he smashed his face on the car’s cigarette lighter, and woke up.

Waking up entangled with Mr. Peanutbutter wasn’t bad. He had woken up entangled with so many people in his life, most of it under circumstances too shameful to remember, some of it so wasted he _couldn’t_ remember, and some of it with people he had cared about or loved – even platonically, like all the times he and Diane had fallen asleep on the couch after drinking one too many.

It was no big deal; he and Mr. Peanutbutter had stayed up late watching TV and had slept on the couch, BoJack wasn’t going to stress about it. He would never admit it, but it was particularly nice to wake up like that after the dream he had, Mr. Peanutbutter’s weight on top of him chasing away the remains of it.

Soon, he felt Mr. Peanutbutter stir, and saw his eyes open.

“Good morning, buddy,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, his voice scratchy.

“Argh, get out,” BoJack said, pushing his shoulders and sitting up, “your morning breath can corrode metal.”

Mr. Peanutbutter chuckled and got up, “Alright, then, one trip to the bathroom and I’ll cook breakfast.”

“You mind if I do it today?” BoJack asked, rubbing his neck, “Kinda feel like I owe you.”

“Of course you can! What could go wrong?”

Their breakfast was cereal, and BoJack vowed to pick up at least the bare minimum of cooking.

After eating they went their separate ways, Mr. Peanutbutter leaving to do whatever and BoJack staying in and watching TV. He didn’t leave the house a lot except for work, and he wondered if he should. The world outside Mr. Peanutbutter’s house seemed scary, as if he would walk past the gate and trip into a line of cocaine somehow, or ruin everything he built with a series of bad decisions. At some point, he would have to buy his own house, find a better job to keep up with his lifestyle, figure out the rest of his life – but right now, Mr. Peanutbutter’s couch seemed safe, comfortable, the only completely non-threatening thing he could count on.

So he stayed inside, watched TV, read, played with his phone, exercised – a habit he picked up because of the appalling lack of entertainment in prison – and tried to be okay. He thought about swimming, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it – he wasn’t scared of drowning, but he hated to be reminded of that night, of the feeling of being that high, and at the same time so low he wanted to die. Most days he stayed out of the pool.

He didn’t see Mr. Peanutbutter that much during the week, they had breakfast together but some days that was the only time they saw each other. Sometimes their schedules just didn’t meet, and at those times BoJack found himself missing the dog. They got along well now, with BoJack being mostly successful at softening his sharp edges, and Mr. Peanutbutter being mostly successful at knowing when to drop something. It was fun being together; it felt good having someone around who cared about him so openly, and Mr. Peanutbutter’s cheerful nature was something that, as much as BoJack hated to admit, he had come to appreciate, sometimes even need. There were days when BoJack felt he hadn’t changed at all, and days when he felt that as much as he had changed, it was too late and it didn’t matter anymore; those days were the days that Mr. Peanutbutter and a movie were like fresh water on a desert, they soothed him, made him remember to breathe, to focus on the good things, to remember he still had good things – had gained some, even.

The first time those roles were reversed was two weeks after they woke up together, on a Friday BoJack was spending with a 5000 puzzle he bought online. He hated puzzles, but everything else was boring and the only places he felt like going on a Friday night were places he very much shouldn’t.

BoJack couldn’t usually hear Mr. Peanutbutter arriving from his bedroom, but this time he heard the front door slam and went downstairs, where Todd was struggling to drag a clearly intoxicated Mr. Peanutbutter to the couch.

“Uh, here, let me help,” BoJack said, and placed an arm around Mr. Peanutbutter, helping Todd get him to the couch. Mr. Peanutbutter was awake, and had a smile on his face, but something wasn’t right. “What happened?”

“I have no idea!” Todd said, throwing his arms up, “I knew he had a date, but then he called me asking to pick him up and I found him like this.”

“That must have been one hell of a date, good or bad,” BoJack eyed Mr. Peanutbutter, who was hugging a pillow and mumbling to himself.

“Look, do you need help with him?” Todd touched BoJack’s arm, sympathetic, “If this is too hard for you I can stay to –”

“No, Todd, it’s, um, fine,” BoJack said, not sure how to communicate how much he appreciated the offer, “You can go, I’ll just give him some water and take him to bed.”

“Okay, then, just call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Uh, sure,” BoJack felt tempted to hug Todd, but didn’t know how to do it naturally, so he just awkwardly patted his shoulder, “Thanks, Todd. You’re a good friend.”

Todd smiled, hesitated at the door, and left.

For a few moments, BoJack just stood there, not sure of what to do.

It was weird to think of Mr. Peanutbutter on a date; ever since BoJack moved in, it had been just the two of them, and maybe because BoJack himself was determined to stay out of relationships, he forgot Mr. Peanutbutter had no desire to do the same. It still felt weird.

Another strange thing was Mr. Peanutbutter that drunk. BoJack had seen the dog drunk before, as they had been to too many parties together to count, but never like this. He didn’t like it – the smell of alcohol, the sad smile, none of it.

Finally, BoJack moved to the kitchen, filling up a big glass of water and bringing it back to Mr. Peanutbutter, resisting the urge to pinch his own nose shut.

“Hey, Mr. Peanutbutter, can you sit up?” BoJack asked, still feeling awkward.

“I’m gonna –” BoJack managed to stay out of the way while Mr. Peanutbutter threw up on the living room floor until tears were leaking from his eyes, “I feel better now,” he slurred.

“Uh, great, can you sit up now?” He did, and BoJack gave him the glass of water, and, when Mr. Peanutbutter nearly dropped it, took it back. He leaned Mr. Peanutbutter’s head back and placed the glass on his lips, helping him drink it, “Hell of a date, huh?” He said when the water was gone.

“It was Katrina,” Mr. Peanutbutter mumbled, and _ouch_.

“Okay, big guy, let’s get you to bed.”

He got Mr. Peanutbutter to his room and went back downstairs to clean up the vomit, after which he took another glass of water back to the bedroom. Part of him was tempted to at least take out Mr. Peanutbutter’s shirt, which smelled like someone had soaked it in whiskey, but he settled for a wet towel on the dog’s mouth to clean it up. After that, he couldn’t go back to his room, too worried Mr. Peanutbutter would need to puke again or even need to go to the hospital, so he settled on a nearby armchair and slept there.

He woke up with a low and painful sounding groan, and smiled on instinct.

“The secret is never sobering up,” he said, softly.

Mr. Peanutbutter’s only answer was another groan.

“Okay, you get up and take a shower because you smell like a puke cocktail, and I’ll get you something for the hangover, deal?” BoJack was out of the room before Mr. Peanutbutter could groan again.

BoJack went to the kitchen and asked the house to make a smoothie – most of the time he thought Robot House was unsettling, but he was glad for it today. Then he searched the house for some ibuprofen, a task not as easy as it should be thanks to Mr. Peanutbutter’s annoying habit of hiding even the most harmless pills from BoJack. He also took a minute to himself, stretching his sore neck from a night on a chair and taking deep breaths. It reminded him so much of himself, decades spent drinking, puking, making awful choices and coming back for more. He knew Mr. Peanutbutter was far from an alcoholic, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He went back to the empty bedroom, heard the shower running and made the choice of lying down on Mr. Peanutbutter’s bed – no more lumpy armchair, thank you very much.

Mr. Peanutbutter left the bathroom with a towel around his waist, still looking as if death had wrapped him in a blanket, but smelling like vanilla instead of booze. BoJack peeked at Mr. Peanutbutter’s body, a little angry the dog could be that in shape with his age.

BoJack stared at the ceiling while Mr. Peanutbutter silently got dressed, and only looked at him when he heard the smoothie being picked up.

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet,” BoJack mentioned.

Mr. Peanutbutter sat down on the bed and hid his face on his hands, “I’m really not sure what to say to make last night less mortifying.”

That made BoJack laugh, “Mr. Peanutbutter, _nothing_ can make last night less mortifying, so just suck it up and tell me what happened.”

“I went out with Katrina last night.”

“You went on a date with your ex-wife? Isn’t that number one on things you should never do?” BoJack asked, sitting up so he could see Mr. Peanutbutter.

“It wasn’t a date, not really, she asked me out and I thought ‘oh, it’s been a while since I’ve heard from Katrina, we should catch up’ so I said yes, and at first it was fine,” Mr. Peanutbutter fell silent, drinking his smoothie and hanging his head. BoJack wanted to rush him, he was deadly curious, and a little jealous. Of what, someone else spending time with Mr. Peanutbutter, or that Mr. Peanutbutter could go out and have fun, even sleep with an ex, he wasn’t sure.

“And then…?” BoJack prompted.

“I don’t know, and then it got weird. We kept drinking, and she started flirting, you know, talking about how she missed… stuff we did,” And hell if BoJack’s mind wasn’t interested in what _that_ meant. “And I told you, it has been hard being alone, and she knows me, really knows me, so I thought maybe we could, I mean, not get back together, _no way,_ but just have some fun…

“But then she drank more and got mean, actually mean, talking about Diane and Pickles and how I wasn’t able to have a conversation with a woman without falling in love, much less have sex with one, which is _so_ unfair. And then I didn’t want to be around her anymore, so I left, but I didn’t want to come here, so I went to the nearest bar. Todd picked me up a few hours later.”

BoJack’s head was spinning. He was, on many levels, not equipped to deal with another person’s emotional needs, and he was deeply uncomfortable that he was talking to Mr. Peanutbutter for over five minutes and there were no smiles or verbal exclamation points. Still, he had to say something, this was his friend and he was upset, and the only other person in the room was BoJack. He opened his mouth, and what came out of it was:

“Why didn’t you want to come here?”

Mr. Peanutbutter’s response, as usual, was alarmingly sincere, “I was drinking, was kinda hoping you’d be asleep by the time I got home. Also, what Katrina said, it made me think of you, and I…” he fell silent again.

“What about me?” BoJack asked, genuinely perplexed.

Mr. Peanutbutter hesitated, “Well, enough about me, what were you up to last night?”

Well, BoJack thought, that’s not suspicious at all.


	6. Mr. Peanutbutter's Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's off with Mr. Peanutbutter and BoJack's sure he knows what is.

Over the next two weeks, something was _off_ about Mr. Peanutbutter.

They still had breakfast together almost every day and watched movies when they could. They bantered, put up with each other and saw their friends, just as they had since BoJack had moved in, but something was missing – or maybe not missing, but changed somehow.

They didn’t talk about Mr. Peanutbutter’s sad date with Katrina again, and BoJack didn’t mind, being the master of sore subjects himself, but he could tell that was the day it started. What started, you ask?

Mr. Peanutbutter’s insistence of taking BoJack out during his lunch hours started; his insistence of picking BoJack up from prison when his schedule allowed started; the weird dinner they had with Todd and Maude started. It wasn’t bad necessarily, but it was weird, and BoJack was too much of a coward to ask what was going on, especially because Mr. Peanutbutter might actually answer.

“So, uh, wanna order some sushi for dinner?” BoJack asked while they were in the car, Mr. Peanutbutter having picked him up again.

“Whatever you want, buddy! Oh, I know this _awesome_ place that actually delivers the food with drones, how crazy is that?” That was another thing, _whatever you want_ , Mr. Peanutbutter was always an agreeable guy, but this felt different. “Hey, what do you think of invite Princess Carolyn and Judah? You know how she loves fish!”

“Yeah, sure, why not,” BoJack said, thinking maybe he could ask Princess Carolyn if she noticed anything.

They got to the house, and BoJack went straight to his bedroom to take a shower. Surprisingly, Mr. Peanutbutter followed him.

“Can I help you with anything?” BoJack sounded a little more annoyed than he meant to, but he was tired from work and frustrated with the way Mr. Peanutbutter was acting, he had never thought he’d see the day that he couldn’t figure Mr. Peanutbutter, of all people and animals, out.

“Just, quick question,” Mr. Peanutbutter took a deep breath, and BoJack prepared himself for a tough one, “When you said you didn’t want to date again, is that a definitive thing?”

“ _Why?_ ” BoJack asked, less uncomfortable and more bewildered.

Mr. Peanutbutter shrugged, “Just curious,” he said innocently.

“But _why?_ ”

“Oookay, forget I asked, big guy,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, clapping BoJack’s arm, “Go clean up, I’ll call Princess Carolyn and order the sushi.

The realization came while BoJack was in the middle of a shower.

“Holy crap!” he blurted, _Mr. Peanutbutter wants to set me up with someone._

Of course, the questions, wanting to hang out with couples, as if to remind BoJack of what he’s missing. Mr. Peanutbutter was going to find someone eventually, a girl as lively as he was, and he must want the same for BoJack or something. Maybe he was scared that he might end up having to kick BoJack out, or maybe he genuinely didn’t believe BoJack could or should be alone forever.

Nevertheless, BoJack had to put a stop to that. He wouldn’t get close to a woman like that ever again – after all the damage he caused, it was the least he could do. Maybe Mr. Peanutbutter couldn’t understand that, never having made mistakes that big – sure, he didn’t listen, he could be self-absorbed and childish, but he had never strangled anyone half to death, or almost committed statutory rape. BoJack took a harsh breath, then another. _Don’t go there right now, you stupid horse._

During dinner, Mr. Peanutbutter’s plan was increasingly clear. He kept asking Princess Carolyn and Judah questions about their married life, making comments about how they worked together for years before falling in love, at one point asking, “What made you guys click that love button after all this time?”

“I’m not sure of what you mean,” Judah said, brows furrowing for half a second.

“Like, what made you guys realize you wanted to spend the rest of your lives with each other?”

“Oh, you don’t have to answer that,” BoJack said, trying to be polite, but Princess Carolyn was smiling, and while Judah wasn’t, he always seemed to enjoy the chance to talk about his wife.

“Princess Carolyn is a remarkable woman, and I was lucky to have her in my life in any capacity,” Judah said, as if it was obvious, “I just came to the realization that my life would be far more enjoyable if she was in it in every capacity.”

Princess Carolyn touched Judah’s hand on the table adoringly, and his lips curved in a tiny smile. BoJack felt his heart clench, and allowed himself a moment to grieve a life he would never have.

When the dinner was over, BoJack got a chance to talk to Princess Carolyn while Mr. Peanutbutter and Judah talked shop.

“I think Mr. Peanutbutter wants to set me up with someone,” BoJack said, trying not to make it sound paranoid and failing miserably.

“Now, why would you think that?” Princess Carolyn asked, clearly not convinced.

“Because I told him I didn’t want to date ever again, but Mr. Peanutbutter looooves love, and he probably thinks I’ll be miserable alone and kill myself or something,” BoJack whispered, realizing as he said it out loud that he didn’t know where his theory about Mr. Peanutbutter’s plan started and his own insecurities ended.

“BoJack, I don’t think Mr. Peanutbutter thinks that,” Princess Carolyn said, sounding as if she was already done with BoJack’s craziness, “If he is trying to convince you to start dating again, it’s probably because he’s your friend and worried about you.”

Judging by her tone, it was clear Mr. Peanutbutter wasn’t the only one worried, “I’m fine, though, better than I’ve been in a long time.”

“Yes, but –”

“I’m done thinking I’m poison or some stupid shit like that, but Princess Carolyn, you better than anyone know how toxic I can be. I feel safer like this, and Mr. Peanutbutter needs to respect that.”

“BoJack,” Princess Carolyn touched BoJack’s hand and looked at him, her eyes filled with both pride and sadness, “you’ve come so far, what’s a little more?”

Two days later, BoJack decided he would finally talk to Mr. Peanutbutter about this. It was Saturday, which usually meant they’d stay up late watching movies or playing some stupid game, providing a perfect opportunity for BoJack to bring up the subject without making a big deal about it. He would calmly tell Mr. Peanutbutter that he was okay, even happy with the way his life was right now, especially with their friendship, and he didn’t need to be in a relationship for that, but he was happy Mr. Peanutbutter wanted to pursue that for himself, and wished him the best.

Empathetic, mature, but firm. Who knew BoJack had it in him?

That evening, when Mr. Peanutbutter sat on the couch and claimed his turn to pick the movie, BoJack had his speech memorized. They were watching _The Boys in the Band_ , which BoJack had never seen before, but it made him think of Herb, and what his old friend must have gone through.

“Hey, Mr. Peanutbutter,” BoJack started while the dog came back to the living room after getting himself more popcorn, “I want to talk to you about something,”

Mr. Peanutbutter’s ears went up, “Oh?” he asked, a huge smile appearing on his face, “I wanna talk to you, too.”

“Do you want to go first?”

“Nooo, no, hopefully what you’ll say will cover what I have to say!” BoJack had no idea why Mr. Peanutbutter was so hyped, but he was hyped about most things, so.

“Okay, um, recently I noticed you started doing some things,” BoJack started, and Mr. Peanutbutter nodded furiously, his tongue hanging out and his hands crossed in a hopeful manner, “And I want to make clear that I _really_ like what we have going on Mr. Peanutbutter –”

“Me too, I love what we have, that’s why I want to try this!”

“But see, it’s different for me, you know, I can’t risk it.” BoJack said, sure that Mr. Peanutbutter wasn’t able to grasp all the ways their situations were different.

“I’m telling you, BoJack, trust me, it’s worth a try,” Mr. Peanutbutter got closer to BoJack, “ _Please._ ”

“Mr. Peanutbutter, _look_ –”

And then, for the second time since they started sharing a house, BoJack for one second thought Mr. Peanutbutter was attacking him – at least until he felt hot lips on his.

BoJack’s hands flew to Mr. Peanutbutter’s back to steady him, his utter confusion taking the backseat as all the sensations coursing through his body took over. BoJack was always bad at thinking with someone pretty on his lap, apparently not even a man could break that curse.

Mr. Peanutbutter was kissing him like this was the last kiss he would ever give, sucking, biting and panting. BoJack hadn’t kissed anyone in almost two years, and he felt what could only be described as electricity making him slip his fingers under Mr. Peanutbutter’s shirt and grab his hips hard enough to bruise. Mr. Peanutbutter moaned, loud and clear, and when BoJack felt a hard line against his stomach, he pushed his own hips up, grinding against Mr. Peanutbutter’s ass.

BoJack’s mind was hazy, a fog blurring every word that made sense, turning BoJack into a being of feeling. And what he felt like was tearing Mr. Peanutbutter’s jeans and grabbing his cock.

But before he could move another inch, a crystal-clear thought cut through the fog, making BoJack’s chest heavy as lead: _Mr. Peanutbutter doesn’t know about Penny._

BoJack pushed Mr. Peanutbutter off of him, just careful enough to drop him on the couch and not on the floor, and grabbed at his own chest, panic settling in fast.

“Mr. Peanutbutter,” he gasped, furious and terrified, “what was this?”

“Um,” was all Mr. Peanutbutter said at first, clearly still having problems with speech, “we kissed?”

BoJack stayed quiet for a few minutes, even if Mr. Peanutbutter was having trouble restraining himself from breaking the silence. Clearly BoJack had wildly misunderstood his friend’s intentions, but he had no idea what to do now.

“I didn’t know you liked men,” BoJack said, for some reason. It wasn’t the most important detail, but it felt like a good place to start.

“I’ve experimented a little,” Mr. Peanutbutter still seemed mostly oblivious to BoJack’s breakdown, “Never thought I could fall in love with one before, though,”

“Love?” BoJack’s voice sounded distant to his own ears. He had no idea what was going on and Mr. Peanutbutter was already talking about love. “Explain this to me from the start, please.”

Mr. Peanutbutter seemed to be catching on, and now sounded uncertain, “I feel like we had a misunderstanding.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“There’s not much to explain,” Mr. Peanutbutter said softly, “I just like you. I thought maybe you liked me, too.”

An hour ago, BoJack wanted to tell Mr. Peanutbutter to stay out of his love life, now apparently Mr. Peanutbutter wanted to _be_ his love life. He needed a freaking drink.

Scratch that, he needed Diane.

“You kissed me back,” it didn’t sound accusing, as it might have sounded if BoJack said it, Mr. Peanutbutter just sounded confused, and still a little hopeful. “You were hard.”

BoJack felt himself becoming defensive anyway, “Of course I was hard, I haven’t gotten any in over a year! A strong breeze would make me hard!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to have a crush on you, it just happened!” Mr. Peanutbutter stood up and ran a hand through his fur, “I mean, you have to know I _did not_ see this coming at all!”

BoJack stood up, too, “What, and I did?! You’re the one who jumped on me!”

“I _said_ I was sorry!”

“You don’t have to be sorry, goddammit, I’m just confused!” BoJack shouted back. He had no idea why they were shouting at all.

Why did Mr. like him? When did that start? Had BoJack enjoyed the kiss or was he just horny? Did he like Mr. Peanutbutter back or was he just lonely? Why on earth were they fighting?

“Shit, Mr. Peanutbutter, why did you have to ruin this?!” BoJack shouted before he could stop himself.

He saw Mr. Peanutbutter sag, his hope and cheerfulness gone, and he felt like the worst horse alive. He wanted to take it back. There was so much he wanted to take back.

BoJack sat back down and closed his eyes. He ran his hands through his face, through his mane, and clasped them behind his neck, keeping his head down. Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t sit back down, didn’t move, barely breathed.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Peanutbutter said again, almost a whisper, “I didn’t think this through.”

“When do you ever?” BoJack joked. Or he tried to, but it sounded bitter to his own ears, and Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t laugh.

They stayed there for maybe a minute, frozen in the heavy silence, until Mr. Peanutbutter’s chatty nature won. “What should I do?” he finally asked.

A million things went through BoJack’s mind. _Leave me alone. Hell if I know. Kiss me again._

BoJack picked one. “Can you leave me alone, please?” he said, proud of the honest plead in his voice, instead of sharpness. “We’ll talk about this, but I need some time to think.”

He didn’t see – he still had his head down – but he almost _felt_ Mr. Peanutbutter perk up. “Does that mean you –”

“It means I need time to think,” BoJack said firmly, not wanting to give his friend any false hope – and not wanting to leave him without any hope at all.

Later, when they were each on their beds, BoJack tossed and turned, questioning everything about himself and Mr. Peanutbutter, when he finally gave up, grabbed his phone and found the one person who could help him.

 **BoJack Horseman > **Hey, I know you’re kind of over me, but your ex-husband just kissed me on the mouth.

 **BoJack Horseman > **Tongue and everything, in case you were wondering. Which I’m sure you were.

 **BoJack Horseman > **Just thought you should know that.

 **BoJack Horseman > **You don’t have to reply if you don’t want to, of course, but if you have any advice…

 **BoJack Horseman > **This is BoJack, by the way.

 **BoJack Horseman > **Horseman, obviously.


	7. Chapter 7

Diane didn’t reply that night, or the day after that. It was okay, BoJack told himself, he knew that was a possibility.

While BoJack pointedly didn’t wait for an answer, Mr. Peanutbutter not so pointedly craved for one. Sure, he was trying to be casual about it, clearly stopping himself from asking BoJack every hour if he had come to a conclusion, but the way he practically vibrated every time they saw each other was far from subtle.

His mornings were suddenly filled with, “Hey, buddy, what’s been going on in your head lately?” and, on one memorable occasion, “We can’t go back to normal, can we?” Which, for BoJack, was absurd – he was perfectly willing to continue life as it had been while he thought of what to do next, it was Mr. Peanutbutter that wouldn’t rest until he had an answer. Although, if their roles were reversed, BoJack would probably be just as bad.

Meanwhile, his thought process was going nowhere. He was ready to admit Mr. Peanutbutter was attractive, but he always knew that, now was _he_ attracted to Mr. Peanutbutter? Maybe. He tried thinking about it, kissing Mr. Peanutbutter again, touching his shoulders, biting his collarbone – there was a reaction, alright. Still, it was weird he had never thought about a man like that before, and he couldn’t understand why now – was it just because he was horny? Or just because Mr. Peanutbutter was the only person he felt intimate to? Was he confusing a genuine connection with a romantic one again?

He had just arrived at the house on a Tuesday night, after work in the prison and a stop at the diner for a sandwich when he finally checked his phone and there was a text from Diane. His heart tightened – it’s been months since he and Diane spoke, he missed her fiercely, but at the same time he wanted to just dismiss the whole thing and tell her not to worry.

 **Diane Nguyen > **I had to check with Mr. Peanutbutter if what you were saying was true.

BoJack tried not to be offended and failed.

 **BoJack Horseman > **I could come up with a lot of lies more convincing than this truth.

 **BoJack Horseman > **Did you tell him I told you?

When Diane took more than a few minutes to answer, BoJack sighed and went to take a shower. Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t seem to be home, and part of him was glad – no awkward questions, no awkward anything. Another part of him, though, maybe even a bigger part, was disappointed – he wanted the companionship, a pat on the shoulder, even a hug. He genuinely liked being with Mr. Peanutbutter, and this whole thing was making him more lonely than usual.

He was just done with getting dressed when, to his utter shock, his phone started ringing. He answered as fast as he could.

“Diane!” he said, too loud, too happy.

“Hey, BoJack,” she said, and they endured a few moments of awkward silence.

“Sooooo,” BoJack tried, “should I ask about your life and your husband so I don’t seem so self-centered?”

Diane chuckled, and BoJack counted it as a win. “I mean, you _should,_ but I’m also dying to hear your gossip, so we can just skip that. I’m fine, Guy’s fine, Texas’ not so bad after all.”

“Great. Mr. Peanutbutter freaking kissed me!”

“I _know!_ I had no idea he liked men!”

“Oh, thank God I’m not the only one thrown by that. I had no idea _I_ liked men!” Diane chuckled again, and BoJack did, too. It was still weird – perhaps it couldn’t not be. Still, BoJack was glad. “I mean, I’m still not a hundred per cent sure I do.”

“I can kind of see it with Mr. Peanutbutter, he was always _super_ enthusiastic to try some stuff that –”

“I’m not sure I can handle hearing about you and Mr. Peanutbutter pegging, Diane, I’m going through enough, already,” BoJack interrupted, because the idea was surprisingly hot, and he did not want to go there. “I mean, I’ve done stuff with men too, everyone rich and drunk in Hollywoob did, and if they say they didn’t they’re lying, but it was never about attraction.”

“I kind of get that, really. But you _are_ attracted to Mr. Peanutbutter?”

There didn’t seem to be a point in lying. “Yes. But I’m scared I shouldn’t trust it.” That was a type of honesty he couldn’t see himself offering to anyone besides Diane. Vulnerability, the parts of him only she could see. But she didn’t want to be in his life anymore, for good reasons, and he had to find a way to be vulnerable with other people – with another person. “Remember when I was in love with you?”

Diane’s response was instantaneous and indignant. “You were never in love with me, BoJack, you just –”

“I know, Diane, I know!” he answered, almost upset. She didn’t have to rub it in. “I’m scared it’s that all over again. He’s my friend, and I trust him, so it has to be sexual, right? And then I’ll find out I don’t like him that way, I just like that he listens to me.”

“Aren’t you over that particular bit of toxic behavior?” Diane asked, her tone carrying just enough accusation.

“I’d like to think so, but what if I’m not?” BoJack laughed bitterly. “Is anyone ever really over anything?”

“I don’t know. I think this phone call proves I’m still not over you.”

BoJack felt himself start to shake with guilt, and forced a question out. “Do you still think about it a lot?”

He didn’t have to clarify. “No,” she said, and BoJack sagged in relief. “But sometimes I want to call you just to make sure you’re still alive.”

“You can always –”

“No, BoJack, I can’t.” The silence this time was depressing, and BoJack almost made up an excuse to hang up when Diane spoke again. “I didn’t tell Mr. Peanutbutter that you told me, by the way, all I had to do was ask him how he was doing.”

BoJack felt a spark of jealousy that Diane could speak with Mr. Peanutbutter more freely than with him, and he consciously let it go. “Of course, I should be worried of all Hollywoob knows our gay drama.”

“Maybe you should give it a chance,” Diane suggested softly, as if anticipating BoJack would protest, “nothing else worked so far, so why not?”

BoJack decided Diane was right the following day.

He didn’t have to deny himself something that could be good for him, right? He had been arrested, he paid for what he did, and even though there were a lot of people that would never forgive him, that didn’t mean he couldn’t forgive himself.

He wouldn’t make the same mistakes with Mr. Peanutbutter he made with women in the past. And even if he made different, new mistakes, he would try his best to fix them and to be better; he could do that, at least.

He decided Diane was wrong the day after that.

Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t know about Penny. A lot of what BoJack did was public knowledge already, and everything that went wrong with Sarah Lynn he had already told Mr. Peanutbutter, but that wasn’t everything. He had taken advantage of a teenage girl, practically a kid, a vulnerable person he was responsible for, there was no way around that.

He had no right to try again, even if he had changed, even if it could be different. What if it wasn’t? What if he hurt Mr. Peanutbutter, traumatized him?

After all, there was no cure for being BoJack Horseman.

That’s how he mind worked for the next few weeks, until he was on the verge of a breakdown. Every day he was more convinced he cared about Mr. Peanutbutter not-platonically, but every day he was less sure of what to do about it.

At some point, Mr. Peanutbutter had changed again, had stopped all the questions and started acting more like before. And while BoJack appreciated it, he was also terrified Mr. Peanutbutter had given up on him.

BoJack knew he should do something; find a therapist, try yoga, meditate, anything. He was too stressed, working so mechanically he could barely remember what he taught when he left the prison. Mr. Peanutbutter’s smiles and little touches were his private torture, making BoJack crave more, more than casual, making BoJack wish Mr. Peanutbutter would touch him with intent.

“Hey, big guy, are you there?” It was Mr. Peanutbutter, looking up from his tiny plate of fried shrimp. BoJack looked up too, and saw Mr. Peanutbutter’s frown, his eyes wide with worry.

“Yeah, just tired,” BoJack managed, sounding fake to his own ears.

“Do you want to head home? Watch TV?” BoJack wanted to say no, he _should_ say no, that he was too tired and would head straight to bed. But the thought of sitting in the couch with Mr. Peanutbutter, commenting on whatever they were watching, their shoulders touching – maybe they would stay up late and fall asleep together again.

“Yeah,” BoJack said, like the weak horse he was.

They left Elefino, which was apparently a hot spot with its peculiar characteristics, and Mr. Peanutbutter started driving them home. It was getting harder for BoJack not to think of Robot House as home.

“Can I ask you something before I lose my nerve?” Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t wait for an answer. “Have you been giving it any thought?”

BoJack sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, Mr. Peanutbutter, I’ve been giving it plenty of thought.”

“Just ‘cause, y’know, it’s been 23 days since…” BoJack laughed before he could stop himself. “Are you seriously laughing at me right now?”

Shit, he sounded really mad. “It’s just, you’ve been counting the days? And I thought I was having a hard time.”

They were silent the rest of the way, but it was okay, BoJack was starting to think that was the night they would talk about it again, and he needed to think if that was the case.

They got to the house, and Mr. Peanutbutter went straight to the couch, patting the cushion beside him. BoJack followed him obediently – he wanted to feel close to Mr. Peanutbutter, that was a fact.

“So, what’s tonight’s movie?” BoJack asked, “It’s your turn, isn’t it?”

“I was kind of hoping we’d talk,” Mr. Peanutbutter admitted, and though BoJack wasn’t surprised, he still swallowed down a curse. “I can’t stand it, BoJack, I need to know where your head’s at.”

BoJack sighed again – no amount of sighing would be enough that night. “My head is… everywhere. I change my mind every few hours, which is why I haven’t given you an answer.”

“But,” that word, that one single word, contained so much pain that BoJack turned to stare at Mr. Peanutbutter. His eyes were downcast, his mouth downturned, everything about him was down. BoJack wanted to kick himself. “I mean, do you… I don’t know, do you _like_ me?”

“You’ve asked me that before, the answer’s still yes.”

“You know what I mean, BoJack.” Mr. Peanutbutter said, looking grim. BoJack looked at his own hands, studied his nails instead of the pain written on Mr. Peanutbutter’s face. He looked like a kicked puppy.

“The last thing I want,” BoJack forced out, “the _last_ thing, is to hurt you. And I’m already failing.” BoJack took a deep breath, the least he could do was tell the truth. “Yes, I like you. I like you, and I _want_ you.”

“So why –”

“Because believe me, that is not enough.” BoJack was shaking. He wasn’t sure why – he wasn’t having a panic attack, that much he knew, but he felt vulnerable, exposed. He felt like he was bleeding, and it hurt. “I-I’m not good at this, I’m going to fuck up.”

“But I don’t expect you to be perfect!”

“No, not in the regular fuck up way, I’m going to, I don’t know, _traumatize_ you,” BoJack felt his throat closing, “I have enough haunting me already,” he managed to say.

“You’re not that guy anymore.”

“I’ll _always_ be that guy.”

“That’s not true, BoJack! You’re letting your – your _youness_ get in the way of this!”

“I have to tell you about New Mexico!” BoJack screamed, then slammed his mouth shut. He wasn’t planning to say that – a big reason why he didn’t want this was so he wouldn’t have to say it.

“ _Fine,_ ” Mr. Peanutbutter said angrily, “you’ll tell me a story of how you screwed up someone as if I didn’t see you almost kill a woman once! But if I can live with it, will you _please_ give this a chance?”

“Why is this so important to you?” BoJack was genuinely curious. “You said it yourself, you saw me strangle Gina, why would you want this with me?”

Mr. Peanutbutter smiled, like that was an easy question. “Because I saw you stop being that person. I mean, yes, it’s still you, I know that, but…” He splayed out his hands, searching for the right words. “I like seeing you at breakfast, and cooking for you. I like that you’re not drinking or using drugs, and I like seeing this you. The you that watches movies with me and takes care of me when I’m drunk. I know you can be shitty, BoJack, but you can also be great. And it’s even more amazing to see someone great when you know how shitty they can be. I like it when you smile, when you let me hug you, and I know you like it.” Mr. Peanutbutter chuckled, almost embarrassed. “I’m _this close_ to falling in love with you.”

BoJack had no idea what to say. “I tried to have sex with a seventeen year old girl.” So he picked the worst possible thing.

“What?” Mr. Peanutbutter whispered, and BoJack felt like everything was tumbling down.

Still, he told the whole story. About Herb and how he met Charlotte, and then met Charlotte again; about moving in, and taking Penny to the prom, and the alcohol; about Penny wanting to sleep with him, and saying no, and then saying yes; about seeing her again just before Sarah Lynn died.

“I would have done it,” BoJack said, “I feel so _repulsive_ admitting it, but I would have. I was lonely and desperate and I almost took something huge away from her because of it.”

When Mr. Peanutbutter spoke, his voice was gentle. “Would you do that again?”

BoJack almost threw up. “What? Of course not! I feel like shit every time I remember it and I can’t fucking stop remembering it!”

“Good,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, “you should remember it. That is actually very disturbing. But I know you _now_ , and I trust you.”

Shit, since when was Mr. Peanutbutter _smart?_

“Do you still want anything with me after that?” BoJack asked.

Mr. Peanutbutter kissed him, but BoJack pushed him away gently as soon as it happened. “I still don’t trust myself with this.” BoJack admitted.

Mr. Peanutbutter’s ears suddenly shoot up. “What if we take things slow?”

“Aren’t we too old for that?” BoJack asked, even though he was glad to see Mr. Peanutbutter looking his excited self.

“I mean it! We’ll watch movies, kiss, cuddle, and we’ll talk! And we keep talking and kissing until you’re ready for more.” BoJack never in his life would have guessed a: that he would ever want to take anything slow and b: that he’d agree Mr. Peanutbutter had a good idea. “Come on, ask me a question and I’ll ask you one!”

“Okay,” BoJack said, there was one thing he was dying to know, anyway, “what did you mean when you said you experimented a little?”

“What, you didn’t?” There was a mischievous quality to Mr. Peanutbutter’s smile now.

“I mean, I _did_ , at least before everything went down with Herb. After that I was too scared.”

“And what did you do?”

“Not much,” BoJack admitted, “got a couple of handjobs, a blowjob once. Never reciprocated, that felt too gay for me at the time.”

“I hope you’d reciprocate it now,” Mr. Peanutbutter elbowed him at the side, and BoJack felt hot all over. “I did reciprocate it, though. I’ve also been on the other side of anal, if you know what I mean, but only with girls.”

BoJack almost admitted he knew that already. “Yeah, I’ve never tried that, only, you know, regular way. Do you think maybe you always liked men? Because you’re pretty enthusiastic about all this.”

“I’m pretty enthusiastic about most things.” As far as BoJack was concerned, truest words had never been said. “But I don’t know, maybe I am kind of bi, I just mostly leaned towards women. I’m trying not to overthink it.”

“Good for you, I’m overthinking for both of us. I swear to you, I’ve never been attracted to a guy before, this is crazy. I’m… shocked with myself.”

Mr. Peanutbutter thought about it for a minute. “Does it matter?” he finally said, “Maybe it’s a one-person thing, maybe it isn’t and you just never allowed yourself until now. Who cares? I’m just glad you like me.”

BoJack smiled. “You know what, I’m glad too.” BoJack got up – this was too much, and although he thought he was happy, he needed some time to process. “I’m off to bed, PB, see you tomorrow.”

Mr. Peanutbutter seemed disappointed. “No movie and cuddles, then?”

“I’m sorry, I’m tired. Tomorrow, okay?”

“Kiss goodnight, then?”

Mr. Peanutbutter stood up and they kissed. BoJack held Mr. Peanutbutter’s face, and Mr. Peanutbutter held his arms. It was sweet, their lips caressing each other’s over and over again. BoJack felt light – he had never felt light while kissing before.

“Thanks for giving this a chance,” Mr. Peanutbutter whispered on his ear before they broke apart.


End file.
